


but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you

by reformedcharacter



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Growing Old Together, Just some cute shit, M/M, thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 04:04:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reformedcharacter/pseuds/reformedcharacter
Summary: aaron had never dreamed he'd grow old with someone, but it's the little moments with robert that make him realise: he wouldn't have his life any other way.or, three events as robert and aaron grow old together.





	but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you

**Author's Note:**

> a completely self indulgent fluff fest based off my favourite poem 'when you are old' by w.b. yeats.

_**when you are old and grey and full of sleep** _

Robert’s been nodding off for the past fifteen minutes. His chin resting against his chest as his neck bends unnaturally and, Aaron thinks, painfully. The thin black frames around his eyes have slid down the bridge of his nose, the plastic that is resting against the tip jostling slightly as he breathes deeply, his chest rising and falling slowly. He lays pushed against Aaron’s side, his hand holding on to his book loosely, having fallen onto Aaron’s lap.

The room’s dark, the television bathing it’s corner of the room in a bright white glow, the dark winter outside flooding the house in a chill that crams into every inch and overflows from the edges. Robert had pulled a blanket over them an hour into Terminator 2, Aaron enthralled in the action as though it was the first time he was witnessing it, as his eyes scanned the pages of the latest Stephen King thriller. It’s massive; a shocking display of garish purple that clashes with their new sofas that Chas had thrust upon them, lips pulled in a cheesy grin and desperation in her eyes. It had been pushed into the bottom of the blankets basket as soon as she had left, Robert only pulling it out when the temperature had dropped, and if anyone asks, that’s where it has stayed.

Robert snaps Aaron out of his daze with a small whimper, a groan from the back of his throat as he shifts in his seat. He’d thrown his legs over Aaron’s thighs not too long before he’d fallen asleep, tucking his chin into Aaron’s neck as his breathing had calmed, the critiquing comments of the film that Aaron had grown used to falling from his lips and melting into faint yawns and murmuring. Robert’s hair tickles under his chin; his short beard doing little to provide a barrier between his skin and the gel Robert insists he still needs to use. A smattering of ash blonde, not grey Robert shouts from where he’s rooted in front of the mirror, decorates the hair by his temples, and spreads over his scalp. He’s letting it grow out, much to Aaron’s delight, so the faded white stands to attention more than usual.

Aaron’s fingers find themselves nestled in the shorter hair at Robert’s neck, toying with the strands with short nails and soft touches, he twists a longer piece around his index finger, careful to not tug too hard as to wake him. He moves his other hand to quietly pull the frames off his face, the frames knocking against his nose as Aaron bites down on his bottom lip anxiously, he folds them and places them on the arm of the sofa, lying back and pulling Robert slightly closer.

He’d hated them, when he first got them. Hiding the prescription in the bottom drawer of his bedside table, hiding the frames at the bottom of his briefcase and sat squinting at the morning paper sat on the table centimetres in front of his face. Aaron had gotten it out of him, his husband’s face turning a bright crimson as he had pulled them on, taking a few seconds before looking at Aaron properly. They suited him, Aaron thought, the black a stark contrast to Robert’s pale and flushed skin, tufts of hair pushed into disarray as the arms sat on his pink ears. Aaron had immediately started laughing, before grasping Robert’s cheeks and crushing his lips to his, the frames knocking against Aaron’s nose as Robert grasped Aaron’s biceps, pulling him even closer.

“You like them, then?” Robert had murmured.

“Never fucking take them off again.” Aaron had replied, crashing their lips together once more.

Aaron smiles again as he thinks of Robert’s loopy grin as Aaron had told him to leave the frames on as he dropped to his aching knees in the middle of the kitchen, Aaron’s fingers playing with the hair around his ears and his own reflection peering back at him through the glass as Robert glanced up at his husband through his eyelashes, lips parted and cheeks flushed. Aaron’s hand finds Robert’s in his lap and squeezes tightly, a soft snore escaping Robert’s lips.

Aaron’s legs are numb, he needs to go to the bathroom and he’s already annoyed by Robert’s complaints of his aching neck in the morning. But he stays, and he sleeps too.

**_and loved your beauty with love false or true_ **

Robert’s pissed him off again. Despite the matching faint lines now framing their eyes and the aches in his knees, nothing has changed over the last fifteen years of their lives together, especially not this one fact: Robert Sugden is the worst person Aaron’s ever met. His sharp tongue has merely grown even shaper over the years, Aaron thinks it’s to make up for the slight hunch in Robert’s back when he walks, or the grunt he makes as he rises from his lumbar support chair at his desk; if he can destroy someone with a scathing remark, they won’t need to know he wakes Aaron up on his way to the bathroom every night.

He can’t make him sleep on the sofa anymore, even Aaron’s not cruel enough to put that extra stress on Robert’s back, so he’d spent the night on his left side; facing away from Robert as his husband’s hand lay in the crevasse of the bedding in between them, his fingers edging slowly towards Aaron’s back, fingertips trailing softly over the expanse of skin, a quiet ‘goodnight’ falling from his lips.

The right side of the bed is empty, Robert thankfully heading out of the door for an early meeting before Aaron stirred awake. He lays on his back, blinking slowly at the ceiling as he waits for his body to wake fully, a tingling in his foot sending shooting pains up the back of his calf due to his awkward sleeping position. Even though annoyance at his husband washes over him, he misses him by his side, waking up with a gentle press of their lips together as Robert hovers above him becoming a steady part of Aaron’s routine years before they officially married.

He leans over to his bedside table, unplugs his phone, and taps against the screen, five unread messages appearing before him.

 **From Robert 7:21am:**  Left at 5:30, didn’t want to wake you. Have a good day, love you, R x

 **From Robert 7:54am:** That new BBC thriller you talked about is on tonight, I’ll have pizza and beers on the table ready. Love you, R x

 **From Adam 8:03am:** U made up with loverboy yet? ;P

 **From Robert 8:17am:** *LINK* Saw this on Facebook and thought it’d put a smile on your face, love you. R x

 **From Robert 8:19am:**  I’m sorry for being a dick yesterday, I didn’t mean to take it out on you. Hope the locks won’t have been changed while I’m out ;), love you, R x

Aaron’s heart lurches in his chest as he reads Robert’s rambling messages, taking a moment to roll his eyes at his best friend, his eyes getting stuck on the ‘love you’s’ that have become a regular feature of the end of Robert’s texts. Tears pool in the corners of his eyes as his spare hand falls to his side, his fingers grasping the white sheets where his husband should be laying. He hadn’t done anything wrong yesterday per say, just one too many snappy remarks or eyerolls behind Aaron’s back forcing him to snap himself, heading up to bed before a gentle word of apology could be attempted by his already regretful husband.

He goes to reopen his messages, his screen fading to black in his hands as he stared at open space next to him, and quickly reply to Robert, say he’s looking forward to having him home, when a knock at the door echoes around him.

Aaron pulls himself up off the bed, his knees cracking as he pulls on some jogging bottoms that lay discarded on the bedroom floor, and pads down the stairs, the cold floorboards creaking under his feet as he shuffles along to the front door. He wrenches the door open, expecting it to be the postman, when a display of shocking colours and scents appears before him. The man, not the postman, reaches out his hand, the bouquet of flowers falling into his waiting palms, and smiles wildly at him.

“For an Aaron Dingle, have a good day!” He smiles broadly again and turns on his heel, heading towards the van that sits parked at the edge of the driveway. Aaron turns back into the house, kicking the door shut behind him and places the bouquet on the kitchen table. It’s a broad mixture of flowers that Aaron largely doesn’t recognise, soft pink petals seated amongst blooms of orange and blue, a crisp white card peeks out from the blur of blossoms. He picks it out, the back displaying the company name, spirit flowers, in a curly green font, and flips it over, a neat scrawl filling the card:

_‘Aaron,_

_I know you’ll probably hate me for sending you flowers, you always do. But I couldn’t think of a more appropriate way to apologise. I’m sorry, for being so horrible last night, for biting your head off and taking out the stress of work on you. You didn’t deserve it. But I love you, and I hope you can forgive me._

_All my love,_

_R x’_

The writing isn’t Robert’s, the cursive far too neat, but Aaron hears Robert’s voice as he reads every word, his husband pouring out of the small piece of paper he’s toying with in his hands. He wants to roll his eyes at Robert’s theatrics, but he thinks of the flowers seated pride of place in the centre of the kitchen, his husband returning home with a shy smile on his face that disappears as Aaron presses his eager lips against Robert’s waiting mouth. He wants to pretend he’s not still putty in Robert’s hands, even after so long together.

But despite himself, Aaron smiles.

**_murmur, a little sadly, how love fled_ **

There’s a party in the pub. If anybody asks, Aaron would deny it, but he misses the days the Woolpack was ruled by the Dingle clan. If not just for the family ties meaning he wouldn’t have to shell out £400 to Priya’s not-so-little girl Amba who now ruled at the helm of the pub. They’d entered to bright lights and loud cheers, despite their families well aware that neither would be surprised, Robert had picked out the bunting after all.

They’d shuffled in together, Aaron’s hand holding tight around Robert’s as their spare hands clutched their walking sticks, the wooden canes clunking against the floor loudly as they entered the room. Their family erupted into cheers as the pair looked on; Seb stood front of centre, his hands clutching onto his youngest daughter’s shoulders, Fiona throwing confetti over her grandparents as he chuckled behind her before coming forward and engulfing them both in a hug.

It was a strange feeling, Aaron notes, seated in the back room of the pub: a fiftieth wedding anniversary. His eyes roam over the room, Chas’ furnishings have long since disappeared, a painful pang tugs at Aaron’s stomach, as it often does as he realises she’s no longer there for all his big moments, ‘she’d have gone all out for this’, he thinks. He sighs loudly and throws his head back, a sharp pain shooting down his neck as he throws his head back against the sofa.

The sound of the party filters through the walls, the muffled sound of some pop music that he doesn’t recognise anymore filling his ears as the door creaks quietly behind him.

“If we were thirty years younger, I’d be taking your clothes off right now.” Robert chuckles, his voice deep.

“That better be my husband,” Aaron mumbles, not turning around and keeping his eyes closed, “Otherwise, you’re a bit late, mate.”

Robert chuckles again and comes around the sofa, falling into the seat next to him with a loud grunt, his cane falling to the floor with a clatter beside Aaron’s. They’re both in relatively good health, despite Robert’s knee operation five years prior, a concern that is steadily growing for Aaron as he hurtles towards eighty with alarming speed, Robert having already tipped over into official ‘old man’ territory. But, he’d be lying if he said the past few hours hadn’t exhausted him, and it seems like Robert would say the same, as he sighs heavily and grabs Aaron’s hand, settling himself into the cushions of the sofa.

“It still goin’ in there?” Aaron asks.

Robert nods his head slightly, “Yeah, Bethany wanted to dance so I made my getaway.”

Aaron snorts at the thought, after Victoria’s granddaughters dance recital two months ago, she’d been desperate for Robert to dance with her after he claimed he ‘used to be an excellent dancer’; the teenager is still unaware that Robert had never been a decent dancer, never mind now where he’s incapable of walking down Main Street without taking a break to breathe.

“She’s gonna get you to do it with her one day, ya’ know?”

“Well that day is not today. I just want to sit with my husband on our anniversary.”

Aaron nods his head and they lapse into silence, or as silent as it can get as their families continue to produce a cacophony of sound through the wall. They breathe in unison, their chests rising and falling in sync as they sink into the soft cushions, when Aaron suddenly says:

“I wish someone had filmed it.”

Robert turns his head to face Aaron, quirking an eyebrow up in question, “Filmed what?”

“Our wedding.”

A smile begins to grow on Robert’s face, but Aaron continues, “I’d love to show everyone and take the piss out of your dancing. It was so bad, I’m surprised you didn’t pull a muscle.” Aaron laughs.

Robert’s jaw falls open in shock, his features offended as Aaron continues to laugh, “It wasn’t that bad!” Which only serves to make Aaron laugh harder, cramp forming in his stomach.

“Rob, it was terrible. I considered divorcing you but we’d only been married a half hour.”

Robert rolls his eyes, but begins to chuckle too, creases forming around his eyes to match Aaron’s own, scrunched up in their laughter. “You would never divorce me. Fifty years strong, us.” He says, tightening his grip on Aaron’s hand in his lap.

“I still can’t believe it’s been fifty years.” Aaron sighs, “it doesn’t seem that long.”

Robert nods his head in agreement, “Can’t believe you put up with me for that long.” He exhales a loud breath through his nose and coughs loudly, the reminisce of a painful chest infection still lingering in his lungs. “Thought you’d get sick of me a few months in.”

Aaron digs his elbow into Robert’s side gently, the older man grunting in retaliation, “Shut up. Stuck with me forever, you are.”

They smile softly at one another, a small tilt of their lips as their memories run through their minds; fifty years of the brutal fights, the beautiful makeups, watching Seb grow from a snot nosed boy to a strong and stable father, a life together that neither could have predicted.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Rob.”

“And I meant what I said.”

Aaron raises his eyebrows in confusion at his husband,

“If I knew we could make it upstairs in one piece, I’d still rip your clothes off.”

Aaron snorts, a bright grin growing on his face to match the teasing smirk on Robert’s lips. Over the years, they’ve sat in this room more times than they can count, their fingers intertwined on their laps as they breathe in harmony, the rucus of the pub drowning out through the walls and life carrying on outside without them. They’re going to struggle to get up, their backs melding with the sofa cushions as they relax, and a stream of grunts and profanities will erupt from their mouths as they scramble for their canes that have fallen to the floor. Seb and Fiona will barge in soon, demanding them to return to their party, but for now, they allow the silence to wash over them.

And Aaron, his palm warm in Robert’s hand, wouldn’t have his life any other way.

 

 

 

 

 

_When you are old and grey and full of sleep,_

_And nodding by the fire, take down this book,_

_And slowly read, and dream of the soft look_

_Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;_

_How many loved your moments of glad grace,_

_And loved your beauty with love false or true,_

_But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,_

_And loved the sorrows of your changing face;_

_And bending down beside the glowing bars,_

_Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled_

_And paced upon the mountains overhead_

_And hid his face amid a crowd of stars._

_**\- w.b yeats** _

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ frecklysugden


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